


Cough Syrup

by genevievedarcygranger



Series: More Hotch Content 2020 [7]
Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Day 7, Day Seven, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Fever, Fluff, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, More Hotch Content 2020, More Hotch Content 2020 Day 7, More Hotch Content 2020 Day Seven, Napping, One Shot, Prompt: Sick Fic, Protective Team, Short One Shot, Sick Aaron Hotchner, Sick Character, Sickfic, Team Bonding, Team Dynamics, Team Feels, Team Fluff, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-23
Updated: 2020-11-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:07:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27680470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/genevievedarcygranger/pseuds/genevievedarcygranger
Summary: Hotch comes to work sick.
Relationships: Aaron Hotchner & Jennifer "JJ" Jareau, Aaron Hotchner & The BAU Team, Penelope Garcia & Aaron Hotchner
Series: More Hotch Content 2020 [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2024732
Comments: 15
Kudos: 92





	Cough Syrup

Aaron Hotchner is a very stubborn man. It was both his best and worst quality if you asked his team. Depending on the situation, his stubbornness could be interpreted as resilience against an Unsub or diligence in the field or narrow-minded focus when narrowing the profile. His stubbornness certainly came in handy when he’d go toe to toe with Strauss in contentious, politically motivated meetings. But in all other situations, Hotch’s stubbornness was just…annoying.

Which is why no one was surprised when Hotch came to work obviously sick. Their first clue that something was off was when he arrived late. Hotch was never late, not even because of coffee. Despite his caffeine addiction, Hotch would rather show up empty-handed and stomach the sludge in the communal coffee pot than stop at some café to pick some up. So, when he showed up empty-handed, head ducked down as he headed straight for his office, the team lifted their heads in confusion.

Their second clue that something was wrong was the state of his hair. Hotch was meticulous about his appearance, borderline obsessed with professionalism. Stubborn as he was, he wears suits to the desert on a case when it’s over 100 degrees. The only time Hotch didn’t style or gel his chair was when they were busy working a case with no breaks. For Hotch to show up with his hair soft and his bangs flopped over his forehead and nearly in his eyes, their group confusion morphed into concern.

Once his office door was shut, Hotch closed his blinds, and the team turned to each other. “Okay, something’s up with Hotch,” Morgan started, his gaze darting between Emily and JJ. He was reclined in his chair, fingers interlaced.

“For as long as I’ve worked at the BAU, I’ve never seen Hotch show up without styling his hair.” Reid fidgeted his pencil, resisting the urge to fuss with his own perpetually messy, greasy hair. “And he’s only shown up late exactly seven times, once due to Haley’s pregnancy, five times due to traffic, and one other time because the elevator was under repair.”

Emily didn’t bother asking how Reid knew any of that, familiar with him by now. “Is today a special date for him or something we don’t know about?”

Reid’s eyes momentary stared off into space before he focused back on Emily again. “Nothing that I know off. Haley’s death isn’t for another five months, and their anniversary was three weeks and six days ago. He showed no outward reaction to that date.”

“Should I ask Garcia to look him up?” Morgan suggested. Somehow, even though it was against the rules to profile each other, they had fallen into the same routine they had on a case. “Maybe it’s a date from further in his past.”

Already shaking her head, Emily exhaled heavily. “Or we could ask Rossi. You know he and Hotch are very close.”

"What about me and Aaron?” Rossi asked as he ambled over to their desks. He had a cup of coffee clutched in his hand and was clearly looking for an excuse not to do the paperwork waiting for him in his office.

“Something’s wrong with Hotch,” Reid informed him, nervously glancing at the closed blinds of Hotch’s office.

“Wrong? What do you mean by wrong?” Rossi asked, considerably calmer than the rest of them, but also glancing at Hotch’s office with concern.

"He came in approximately nine minutes late, and he didn’t style his hair today,” Reid rattled off the facts. “For as long as I’ve worked at the BAU, I’ve never seen Hotch show up without–”

“Yeah, me either,” Rossi interrupted unintentionally, squinting at Hotch’s closed office door. “That kid has always been punctual and professional when it came to the office.” 

“So you can see why we’re concerned,” Emily said. Her fingers kept inching up to her mouth, but she always dropped her hand before she could start gnawing on her fingers.

“What are we concerned about?” JJ asked as she walked by, files clutched to her chest on her way to the office. She paused at Emily’s desk, looking around at the team.

This time it was Morgan who filled JJ in. “Something’s wrong with Hotch. He showed up late and his hair is a mess.”

JJ’s brow crumpled together in consternation. “Okay, the man is human. He is entitled to tardiness, and he’s subject to bad hair days like the rest of us.”

“But it’s Hotch,” Reid didn’t exactly whine, but it came very close to it.

Leaning her hip against the edge of Emily’s desk, JJ looked around at the group of profilers that were her friends. “Okay, so if you guys are so concerned, have you bothered asking him what’s wrong?” She was met with silence, which she fondly rolled her eyes at. “Profilers,” she muttered. “Sometimes you can get an answer by asking through direct communication.”

"Okay, communication liaison,” Morgan spoke up, clearly amused, “Why don’t you ask him what’s up then? And you can ask, but do you really think he’ll be honest? He’s going to blow you off.”

“He’s right,” Reid rambled, “Hotch is the stereotypical Alpha Male who has trouble talking about his own feelings. He prefers to bottle up his emotions and release them through physical outlets, such as field work. This is because he does not like appearing vulnerable, especially since he is our Unit Chief and is supposed to be seen as unshakeable. He believes he is supposed to support us, not the other way around.”

A stricken look passed over Emily’s face as she looked to JJ for guidance. “He shouldn’t have to think that.”

"I guess it’s…our fault that he thinks that,” JJ thought aloud, “but we can start making up for that right now. I’m going to go ask him what’s wrong.”

“Uh, you might be a little too late for that,” Rossi observed as he nodded towards the stairs that led to Hotch’s office. Garcia, brightly dressed in green and orange that made her resemble a squash, was climbing the stairs, somehow able to precariously balance on her four-inch-high heels. He blew the steam off of his coffee before he took a small sip. “She’ll definitely get an answer out of him.”

* * *

Garcia knocked on Hotch’s door and waited for his “Come in,” before she entered. Shuffling the papers in her hands, she wasn’t looking at him when she started talking.

"Good morning, sir. Don’t worry, I do not have a case, but I do have some paperwork that requires your signature so I can get a much-needed update to my precious babies, so if you could please sign them.” She abruptly stopped when she glanced up and finally got a good look at her boss. “Sir, you’re sick.”

Hotch’s stern look was a pale shadow of what it normally was. He himself was also paler than normal, nearly rivaling Emily as far as color, and but his paleness only made the redness of his nose that much starker. In his left hand, he clutched one of his nice pens, but in the other he had discretely tried to ball up a tissue into his fist, but Garcia could see one corner of it peeking out. “You can leave the paperwork here, Garcia. I’ll sign it. Thank you,” he muttered, his usually deeper voice even lower, but less smooth. It sounded like he’d been gargling gravel all night.

Cocking her head at him, Garcia did not put the papers down. “Did you not hear me? Sir, I think you’re sick. You shouldn’t be here.”

Not bothering to hide his illness, Hotch looked back at the files on his desk. “If I’m sick, I don’t want you to get sick either, Garcia. You should leave now.”

“No.”

Startled by her answer, Hotch looked up at her with wide, bloodshot eyes. “Excuse me?”

Placing her hands on her hips, Garcia lifted her chin. “I’m not leaving, sir, until you go home.”

Hotch clearly wasn’t expecting this. “Garcia…” he started, but she wouldn’t let him finish.

“What are your symptoms, sir? I’m thinking stuffy nose, headache, fever… maybe the flu? What’s your temperature?”

Slowly, Hotch found himself answering her, “I…didn’t check.” Finally, he sighed and dropped his pen to his desk in a sign of defeat. Sitting back in his chair, he told her, “Jack was sick this weekend from the flu. I think I may have caught it, but…” he stopped and avoided her eye.

“But?” Garcia prompted him, one eyebrow knowingly raised.

Hotch was quiet when he continued, “But I haven’t thrown up, so I didn’t think I was that bad.” He brought the tissue in his hand to his face, rubbing at his nose before it could drip.

Garcia noticed that his soft hair initially hid how his forehead shined with perspiration, but it was starting to stick from his sweat now. He had also started to shake, though the movements were imperceptible at a first glance; Garcia was looking for it, though, which is the only reason why she saw them. Even though she dropped out of med school, some of her training still stuck with her. “You don’t have to vomit to be considered sick, sir.”

He sounded ashamed when he answered her. “I know.”

“Hotch,” Garcia licked her lips, “We should really take your temperature. You wait here. I think JJ keeps one in her office.”

“Don’t tell her,” Hotch asked, his brows knitting together in distress. “Don’t tell the others.”

“I wouldn’t have to tell the others if you went home,” Garcia pointed out. “Sir, it’s fine. They’re not going to look at you any differently. You’re sick. It happens.” Nothing she said was getting through to Hotch though as he continued to shake his head. A full-body shudder passed through him, and Garcia frowned, resisting the urge to baby-talk him like she does her cat when he gets an upset tummy. “Hotch, just come sit on your couch here. I’ll go get the thermometer from JJ and a blanket from my office, and you can stay here with us _even though you should really go home_ , okay?”

Sullen and laconic, Hotch actually agreed, “Okay.”

Garcia still waited until he got up and moved around his desk to the couch though before she tossed the paperwork on his desk and left for JJ’s office. Once she stepped out of Hotch’s office, she saw JJ in the bullpen, sitting on top of Emily’s desk and staring at her as if she were waiting. Garcia picked her way down the stairs. “JJ, do you have a thermometer?”

“I do,” she frowned, “Why?”

“Hotch is sick and he’s refusing to go home, so I convinced him to sit on his couch to work instead, but I would still feel better if we knew how high his fever is.” As Garcia strutted through the bullpen, she noticed that all of the others were looking at her, too. “What?”

“Did Hotch actually tell you he was sick, baby girl?”

“No, I could definitely tell, and he didn’t admit it until I bullied him into it.”

Morgan jabbed his pen in JJ’s direction. “You owe me ten bucks.”

JJ scoffed at him. “Okay, but now is so not the time for that.” She hopped off Emily’s desk and brushed her tight pencil skirt down. “I need to go get that thermometer.”

“Hey, wait,” Morgan started digging through the drawers of his desk. “You can give him some of this.” He tossed a bottle of cough syrup in JJ’s direction, but Emily was the one who caught it for her.

“You keep cough syrup in your desk?” Emily asked.

“It’s come in handy,” Morgan defended himself. “It’s definitely useful now. Besides, it’s not the kind that makes you sleep. Hotch might appreciate that.”

“The sleepy kind might be better,” Rossi interjected. “If Hotch is sick, he should be resting.”

“You got any cough syrup in your office?”

"No, I don’t get sick. I’m Italian. Viruses know better.”

“Then that’s the best we got unless one of us goes to a convenience store or something.”

Plucking the bottle from Emily’s hands, JJ said, “This will do just fine. We’d have to trick Hotch into taking the sleepy kind anyway.”

“Do you think he’d appreciate some soup?” Reid meekly asked. “I brought the kind you can heat in the microwave, but if that isn’t good, we could pick up soup from that café he likes on fifth.”

Just then Garcia returned with a rainbow polka-dotted blanket folded up neatly over one arm. “I don’t know if we should make him eat. He told me that Jack was vomiting all weekend, but Hotch hasn’t started yet.”

JJ, Emily, and Morgan made nearly identical faces of disgust. “If he vomits, he’s going home.” Morgan then jabbed his pen in Rossi’s direction. “You’re gonna take him home.”

“What? Why me?”

"Because you can’t get sick. You’re Italian and the viruses know better.”

“And you’re immune to the Hotch glare,” Emily added helpfully.

“Almost all of you are immune to the Hotch glare,” Rossi argued, “Except for Reid and occasionally Garcia, present circumstances excluded.”

Garcia didn’t bother to protest, and neither did Reid. She just went back up to Hotch’s office again, followed closely by JJ. “Got the thermometer?”

“On my way, but I did snag some cough syrup from Morgan.”

“Ooh, gimme that! I’ll get him to take some.”

* * *

As soon as she stepped inside the office, though, she had to slap her hand over her mouth to keep from awing on sight. Hotch had snagged the paperwork Garcia brought him off of his desk and scrawled a bunch of signatures. Then, somehow, in the last minutes, he managed to fall asleep, curled up on the couch, the paperwork dangling from his fingertips and his pen on the floor. His mouth was open so he could breathe, and the snores he produced were bone-rattling.

Garcia set the bottle of cough syrup on his desk for later and then spread the blanket out over his sleeping form. Even though he was curled up into a ball so that his feet didn’t hang off the end of the couch, the blanket still couldn’t cover all of him. Fussing over him, Garcia attempted to smooth it over his sleeping form. In his sleep, though, Hotch used the free hand that was tucked under his chin to grab the corner of the blanket and pull it over his nose. The motion muffled his snores marginally.

When JJ entered his office, she also brought her hands to her face at the sight of their sleeping boss. She whispered to Garcia, “I brought the thermometer. It’s the kind you put on your forehead. Should I still use it?”

In response, Garcia gestured helplessly at Hotch. “Just don’t wake him up.”

Carefully, JJ smoothed Hotch’s bangs back so she could press the thermometer to his forehead. At her gentle touch, Hotch hummed and smiled in his sleep. Almost automatically, JJ started smoothing her fingers through his hair just like she would for Henry. If Hotch was a cat, he would purr. “He’s got a fever,” JJ read, “It’s 102.”

“Poor baby,” Garcia tutted her sympathy. “Let’s leave him to rest and come back to check on him.”

“Yeah, he needs his rest.” Reluctantly, JJ pulled away, and Hotch frowned at the lack of hair strokes.

Garcia started to follow JJ before she paused and went back to bring the trash can closer to Hotch in case he got sick. Then she gently closed the door behind her. “So, we’re agreed. No one goes in, right?”

“Yeah. We’ll take shifts. Rossi can handle Strauss if she shows up.” JJ checked her watch. “Let him nap for about two hours, and then go wake him up for some food?”

“If he lasts that long.” Garcia clutched the stair railing on her way back to her office. “Let’s just hope we don’t get a case.” She crossed her fingers in hopes that the universe would be on Hotch’s side for once. If this was the only way Hotch could take a day off, Garcia wanted him to have it. He could use the rest.


End file.
